Son Of A Bleach

You know I’m not a doctor – but of course I could have been,
that’s why, up until a week ago, I touted chloroquine.
Now, new evidence suggests that might have been an overreach,
so instead I’ll tout another treatment: shooting up with bleach.

Nearly everybody’s got a jug of Clorox in their homes,
so this treatment wouldn’t cost a dime to fix your chromosomes.
It’s another brilliant plan of mine to give all folks protection
from this malady, by means of self-administered injection.

For some of you, the use of needles may prove to be tough. It
would be fine, then, to pull out a can of Lysol and just huff it.
Maybe gargle with some bleach, or add it to your morning beverage –
and the only risk, besides the taste, is suffering a hemorrhage.

I also think that UV light is showing some potential,
so I’ll make a proclamation – bona fide and presidential –
telling everyone to go outside for more than just a minute
and let sunlight cascade on your bod and kill whatever’s in it.

I’m just here to give ideas and to offer up suggestions,
then to lay into reporters who have dared to ask me questions.
The response to what I’m advocating? Every doctor cringed.
With each passing day, it’s clear I have completely come unhinged.

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